how chance the roses there fade so fast?

Witchhazel · March 18, 2018, 07:19 PM

it is when togo's song falters, and no guiding touch moves to her shoulder that the girl knows something is different. in the sudden silence, she can make out the sound of pawsteps, the soft crunch of snow. already she angles and tilts her head in order to attempt and make out the distant shape, yet it is only when the other draws near that she is able to distinguish a dark figure. togo moves near, whispering a clipped description by her ear; young, black, female, wolf. it is then that she draws back a fraction, yet remains close enough to touch.

for a moment, witchhazel's gaze fells short of the stranger, but after some adjustments, she finds again the dark shape before them. her tail moves at her hocks, a gentle banner flying her intent; peace. the coyote is still, silent, though her gaze cuts sharply towards the woman where hazel's merely finds a lucky spot to rest, somewhere near the shape's centre. the woman makes her introduction, and witchhazel murmurs a "hallo" that is nearly lost in the space between them. "you are friendly?" it is a gentle, careful inquiry, and the girl's tail ceases its motion a moment as she awaits and answer, salmon-pink tongue drawing once across her lips in a small, nervous gesture.

the winterbarren plain around them is disturbed once, with a breath of wind that has the flurries falling lose their way, dance sideways and upward before settling again on their downward journey. togo had whispered that spring must be coming, soon, but she herself had barely seen a year's turn and thus knew little on the matter. winter had stretched for eons, and each thaw seemed to reach an anticlimax with the coming of another blizzard.